


To The Pain

by Sinclaironfire



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Accidentally Faking Being Dead, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, And now it's gone, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, BAMF Arthur Morgan, BAMF Hosea Matthews, BAMF Javier Escuella, BAMF Molly O'Shea, BAMF Orville Swanson, BAMF Sadie Adler, Canon Rewrite, Chronic Pain, Coma, Depression, Dutch Mourns, Dutch makes terrible decisions, Everyone has their BAMF moments, Everything Hurts, Except for Micah, F/M, Fake Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, He Knows How to Play a Long Con, He dies like the rat that he is, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hosea Loves the Gang, Hosea Matthews has Chronic Pain, Hosea Matthews is the Best, Hosea and Molly are friends, Hosea is a Conman, Hosea was keeping them together, Incorrect Medicine, M/M, Micah Bell is a Monster, Micah moves in as his right hand man, Protective Hosea Matthews, The Gang Breaks Up, The Longest Con of them all, They put up with Dutch's insanity, everything goes to hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22775299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinclaironfire/pseuds/Sinclaironfire
Summary: Surviving the freezing cold, numerous shoot-outs, and being full-on tackled off a balcony has put Hosea at his absolute limit. Pain was something that he was used to.But waking up in the morgue? Not so much.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, Karen Jones/Sean MacGuire, Kieran Duffy/Mary-Beth Gaskill, Micah Bell/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 30
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Hosea and I want him to suffer. I have no idea where this plot is going.

“How you  feelin ’ Hosea?”

The silver haired man took one look at Arthur and shrugged, “I won’t be doing any dancing that’s for certain.”

“You’re  sittin ’  kinda funny.” Arthur pointed out.  Subconsciously , he shifted his position. The bumps on the  road and the hard wood do nothing to ease the searing pain he’s feeling in his hips. 

“ I’d like to see any man take a header off a balcony and not  sit  kinda funny,” he fired back.

“Alright, alright, I’m just  sayin ’....”

Just  sayin ’....it was amazing how two words could mean so much.  Especially when they were partnered  with concerned looks and worried glances.  It was hard to deny that he wasn’t getting on in years despite how often Dutch kept prattling on.  His hair? It was gray now instead of blonde. His hands? When had they started to get so shaky? Yep, he was certainly  getting older.  It was  inevitable but a part of him was proud that he had even made it this  far. In  their line of work, it was seldom  to see an old outlaw let alone one of his age. Oh, yes, he had seen a great deal of men and women come and go and not in the best of ways. Gun do wn , stabbed, betrayed, hanged...there was a lot of bad ways to go. Old age just happened to be the one he was going down.  In retrospect, it wasn’t too bad of a way to go. What was bad was how after a certain amount of time, people  started to treat him as if he was made of glass which going by the pain radiating in his hips wasn’t too far off. A quiet hiss escaped his lips as they went over a particularly brutal bump.

“Hosea?” Arthur asked. “Do you want me to drive?”

At this point, he didn’t know what hurt worse his pride or his hip. Reluctantly, he handed over the  reins to his son. “Drive carefully, please.”

When they reached the camp, well after dark and when most of the gang had fallen asleep, Hosea could barely limp himself back to his cot.

“Hosea,” Arthur started once more, his voice tinged with worry.

“I’m fine,” he replied, hoping that he could still fool him.

“ Hosea, please...”

“Arthur, I’m fine. Really. Look, I’m old and should I be taking dives  off of balconies? No, no sir. But I’m fine, honest .”

“ Honesty don’t mean much coming from a con man.”

“Then don’t listen to me as a conman but as your father. I am fine. I am still alive. I’m  sore as hell, but you know what? I’m going to go to sleep and feel better in the morning, alright?”

His son sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Alright. See  ya in the mornin’, Pa.”

“See you in the morning Arthur.”

Of course, before Hosea could even entertain the idea of going to bed, he had to take care of his wounds. He thought that they weren’t severe, but the fis ts, falls, and  god-awful drive had somehow increased his pain  tenfold .  With shaky hands, he carefully chose the herbs and mixes that had saved him from mind-numbing pain. Good heavens there so many  elixirs to choose from. One for bad knees, another for his back and hands , and if he was right, someone else, most likely Dutch or Uncle  or perhaps Strauss  had taken one of them for headaches...much like the one that he was currently  experiencing . It was far too late to go out looking for more. 

Hosea popped the lid of one and took a sip. It wasn’t much to help with the pain that he felt, but damn it he needed something. Man was not made to live with this type of physical  pain and neither was Hosea Matthews . 

It was roughly six in the morning when the early-rises of the camp were starting to get a move on. The slight hustle of the camp of infamous outlaws woke young Jack Marston up with del ight. Today was the day that he got to spend one-on-one time with his Grandpa Hosea! His grandpa promise d to take him fishing and to tell him stories of when his Pa was young with Uncle Arthur. 

The adults of the camp had decided that with all the moving around,  Jack needed to be properly socialized. This came in the form of one adult spending an entire day with Jack and teaching him all the important things that came with being in the family. With  Uncle  Arthur it was horseback riding, with  Grandpa  Dutch it was learning how to make a speech, with Uncle Strauss it was numbers, with Uncle Charles it was hunting, but with Grandpa Hosea, it was fishing . He liked spending time with his Grandpa Hosea. Not only did he teach him how to fish, but he would read books to him, tell funny stories, and let him doodle in the sand banks.

Excited for what laid ahead, Jack wiggled out of his mother’s grasp and snuck off to get an early start with one-on-one time with Grandpa Hosea.  It was easy to sneak past all the other adults in the camp to get to his Grandpa’s tent. Quietly, he entered and found Grandpa Hosea sleeping in a rather funny position. 

“Grandpa Hosea? Are  ya awake? You promised to take me fishing.” Jack shook his grandfather as hard as he could. “Grandpa? Grandpa Hosea?” He shook him again. “Come on, wake up. ”

“Jack! Jack Marsten! Where are you?” Abigail called out. Jack  hesitated to leave but if his Mama was calling him, then he  had better go.

“I’m here, mama!”

Abigail turned around and picked him up. “And where was here? Where did you go? It’s not safe to go wandering out by yourself.”

“I was with Grandpa Hosea, but he wouldn’t wake up.”

“Don’t go waking Hosea up now, okay? He and Uncle Arthur were out working last night.”

“I tried to wake him up but he didn’t. He didn’t move at all. He was really still.”

Abigail nervously laughed . A lump the size of Texas bloomed in her stomach.  “Jack, sweetie, can  you um...go with Uncle Javier for just a second?” She grabbed the  suave gunslinger who was just passing  by. “He’s going to teach you how to play dominoes, okay?”

“I can’t play dominoes to save my life,” Javier complained. “Go get Mary-Beth. She’s a real shark.”

“Go. Play. Dominoes.” Abigail threatened. 

“Come on, Jacky. Let’s go play dominoes.”

“Thank you,” she smiled.  Quickly and quietly, she moved to Hosea’s tent.  The man in question was there.  Everything seemed fine at first glance. Except...on a second glance , there was something off. Very off. He wasn’t moving at all.  She bent down and gently shook him. “Hosea? Hosea, come on, wake up. You’re starting to scare me.”

Hosea did not respond. Abigail’s fear increased. She listened for a heartbeat, for anything that gave indication to a sign of life.  There was nothing. Abigail calmly got up and breathed. This was bad. She left the tent and looked  for someone else to confirm what she feared. Arthur was the unlucky person who happened to pass by.

“Arthur! Arthur, can you come here?”

“I’m in the middle of something,” he said shaking his head.

“It’s important , please ”

The artistic outlaw sighed and walked over. “What? I got  somethin ’ going on over in town and -”

“It’s Hosea,” she whispered. “He’s not ....I don’t think he’s here...alive, I mean.”

Arthur took a sharp breath and went into the tent. “Hosea, Hosea!” He listened  just as carefully as Abigail did if not harder. He waited for  anything. He wanted his father to wake up and to shout at him and Abigail for int ruding on him in his tent. There was nothing. Hosea was as cold as night and long gone from the  waking  world. 

Arthur Morgan had lost a lot in this world, but none could prepare him for losing his father. 

“Arthur, Arthur, I’m so sorry .... ”

“Me too, Abigail. Me too...”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch learns of a plan, Arthur's anger, and Hosea's passing. He handles nothing well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to make this so angsty that it'll hurt

If Dutch was the brains of the Van Der Linde Gang, then Hosea was most certainly it’s heart and  it’s soul. His sudden and unexpected death all but broke the gang.  Only three people knew of his passing: Arthur, Abigail, and Jack who couldn’t understand why his grandfather refused to wake up.  Arthur, who had barely come to grips about losing his father, barely heard Abigail talking to him.

“Arthur? Arthur Morgan are you hearing me?”

“What?”

“We need to tell the others,” she urged.

Arthur flinched. Dear god...he was going to have to tell Dutch. Of course, he was going to have to tell Dutch. He would want to be the first to know. “ Yeah, yeah ...I’ll go, I’ll go let them know. Stay with Hosea, will you? I. ..I don’t want him to be alone.”

Abigail nodded. “Of course, Arthur.”

As he walked to Dutch’s tent, Arthur  came to the conclusion that there was no good way to tell anyone that their friend of over twenty years was dead. It was an awful thing to have to do...almost as awful as hearing Micah’s  obnoxious laughter coming from Dutch’s tent.

“ I’m telling you Dutch, Dutch it’s a solid plan as anything. A payroll train coming in, a fast boat in the harbor, and we’re on our way to paradise before the Pinkertons ever know we were there!”

“It is quite a plan,” Dutch laughed. “It’s a fine plan, Micah. A fine plan indeed. I’ll talk it over with Hosea tonight and -”

“We don’t need Hosea for this, Dutch . You and me with Bill and Javier, we can do this!”

“I don’t...I don’t know. I need to talk to Hosea.”

“We don’t need Hosea! He’ll naysay the plan like he does with  all of your other plans! What is it that you always say, Dutch? Have a little faith? I’ve got faith in you, Dutch. Hosea don’t.”

“Hosea’s...being cautious. He’s always been that way.”

“We need money, Dutch. This plan will give us the cash that we need. If he wants to play it safe, then he can stay at the camp with the womenfolk. We need don’t need him to make this gang a success.”

Arthur had heard enough. He’d all but stormed into Dutch’s tent. Micah sn eered instantly at the sight of Arthur. “Well, look who it is, another naysayer.”

“Dutch, we need to talk.”

“ Ya see, Dutch?” Micah interrupted. “They’re losing faith.”

There was only so much that a man could  take and Arthur Morgan had reached his list.  He drew his pistol and aimed it at Micah’s  head . “Leave,” he growled. “Either of your own volition or without your face.”

“Dutch...” Micah cowered. 

“Arthur Morgan!” Dutch scolded. “What are you -”

“We need to talk and I will not stand here and have him talk shit over Hosea!”

“Uh, Micah, I think it’s best if you took your leave.”

Micah did, but the influence of his character remained. Dutch rose from his seat. Anger was clear and present.

“What the hell was that?”

“That’s me needing to talk to you and getting railroaded by Micah.”

“You were out of line!” he shouted.

“I don’t care! We need to talk, Dutch. It’s important.”

“Whatever you  nee d to say, you could have said it in front of Micah. He’s part of the gang. I trust him.”

“I don’t. Now-”

“You’ve never liked him! Not once! I’m starting to think that he’s right about you. You and Hosea haven’t given me a moment’s peace since Blackwater.  Ya’ll keep harping on my mistakes when I am trying to keep everyone alive and -”

Trying to keep everyone alive? Arthur almost wanted to laugh. Micah was a killer, they  all were, but Micah enjoyed killing. It didn’t matter who it was. Man, woman, child, animal? Micah would kill them all. Hell, if Arthur hadn’t seen Hosea go to his tent on his own w hen Micah was in a heavy slumber, he would have assumed that Micah killed him. 

“Hosea’s dead, Dutch!”

It was harsh, cruel, and venomous. Not at all how he wanted to break the news to Dutch. A cold  soulless look emerged on his face. “What?”

“He’s dead. Dutch, I’m sorry. He’s gone.”

“No...no, Hosea. I-I don’t believe you! HOSEA!”

He ran from the tent, not giving a single damn how he appeared to the others. The  suave and sophisticated Dutch Van Der Linde was gone . In his wake was a man full of panic and fear. Hosea’s tent, guarded by Abigail , seemed so far away. Dutch ran to Hosea’s tent faster than he had gone after anything in his life. Nothing could stop him. He needed to see Hosea. He hoped and prayed ag ainst everything that it was all a cruel lie. Pulling the tent flap aside, he saw Hosea’s lifeless  form on the cold hard ground. 

“Hosea...” he whimpered. “Wake up! Please...” It was a plea that Hosea could not comply with. Dutch  collapsed . How could this have happened? Every close shave and narrow escape  and his d earest friend of over twenty years had died but a few feet away from him. A hundred million thoughts hit him at once. None were kind as they slathered him with guilt.  Hosea, sweet and kind Hosea, died a few feet away from him. He died alone. He was surrounded by their gang and he died alone.  Had he known that he wasn’t long for this world?  Oh dear god, was he scared? Hosea was a brave man. But this was death. Dutch had seen more men, lots of men, cry and quake in the face of the grim reaper. 

Hosea, his Hosea, Dutch couldn’t bear the thought of Hosea barely clinging to life, wanting someone to be with him as he slipped from this world to the next.  Dutch curled up next to Hosea’s body. He hoped beyond anything in the world that it was nothing but a horrible dream.

“Dutch,” Abigail touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry. We know ....we know how you feel.”

That’s what she said, but how could they know? How could they ever know what it was like to be close to Hosea in the way that he was? He was his friend.  How many years had  were they together? Twenty? Twenty-five? They’d been together longer than most people got to live. And now he was gone. Hosea was gone. He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.  His thought turned to Hosea’s last moments. Did he try and get help? Did he want to be left alone during his final hours? There were a million questions and fear that Dutch  had and they all were of Hosea. 

“Dutch, we need you.,” spoke Abigail softly. 

Yeah, they needed him. They always needed him, but what about Hosea? With great reluctance, Dutch left Hosea’s side. It killed him to do so. He stepped out, his gang looked at him with fear and concern.  “Ladies and gentlemen, gang, gather around. I...um I have some bad news. Last night,” Tears stung his eyes , “Hosea passed away.”

A ripple of gasps and murmurs flooded through the camp. “I. ..I know that we’ve  lost a lot of good people. Jenny, Davey, Mac and now Hosea, but I swear that we will not lose anyone else. Alright? No more deaths. I’m not losing anyone else. Is that understood?”

There were nods and a yes or two, but his speech lacked the intensity that it  usually had. Dutch turned away from his gang . He returned to Hosea. The gang understood. They left him to his grief except for one man. Rever e nd Swanson entered the tent shortly after Dutch, looking as sober and sombe r as he could. 

“Mr. Van Der Linde,” he spoke, his voice unusually calm and clear. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Swanson...I don’t mean to be...why are you here?”

Swanson cleared his throat. “Mr. Matthews expressed a great concern in the afterlife. He  came to me a few years ago to see that they happened. He wanted last rites.”

“ Last rites?  I didn’t realize... that Hosea was Catholic.”

Dutch though he knew everything about Hosea. They came close to death more than on one occasion.  They talked about what they would want done should one of them die. It was an  inevitable conversation that happened.  But he would have thought that Hosea would have at least informed him that he wanted certain burial styles. 

“He was. ” Swanson nodded. “ Lapsed, of course. But we’ve all done a lot of lapsing.”

“W hat did he  want?”

“Not much,” Swanson sighed. “H is medal of St. Jude, his wedding photo of Bessie. He’d like to keep his guns too, but  he mentioned that if there was a need for them to let the gang have them. T hat’s about it.”

“That’s not much,” Dutch nodded. “ He...” Dutch shook his head. An entire life came down  a small silver medal, a faded wedding photo, and guns. How  was that even possible? “ I. ..thank you, Reverend. I. ..thank you for taking care of him.”

“Happy to help. Would you like to stay for the  rites? Hosea would have wanted to have someone close to him.”

“I would...thank you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hosea hadn’t been dead for more than a couple of hours , but the camp changed almost instantly.  There was a vacancy as the  heart, soul, and second-in-command. While the rest of the gang was trying to come to terms, Micah had his sights set on the future. Hosea was gone. Dead as a doornail. Dutch, who almost never led them astray needed time to be alone and to think. And with that time meant that the gang wasn’t getting any money. Without any money, the gang was dying. 

Now what kind of outlaw would he be if he let the gang die?

Hosea may be dead, but that didn’t mean that the gang had to follow him. It was up to him to  save the day, earn the cash, and most importantly cement his spot as the second-in-command. The others were too weak and soft. No killing unless they had to, no going after people who obviously wronged them,  and not going after the big marks because big old Arthur Morgan thought it was too damn dangerous. Life was dangerous. They were outlaws. Being in danger was part of their life. If the others didn’t like it so much , then they should pick another life. 

Micah had no time to waste. He strode over to Hosea’s tent. To no one’s surprise, Dutch was in there sobbing like he just lost everything. How pathetic. How one man could have such a hold over another was beyond him. He prepared himself for the role he was about to play.

“I’m sorry, Dutch,” Micah nodded, taking off his hat in respect. “I’m truly sorry.”

A numb “thank you”, was all Dutch could utter. 

“Hosea was a great man.”

That didn’t even come close to how great Hosea was in Dutch’s opinion . “I miss him...so much.”

“I know, we all do. I might not have agreed with Hosea’s methods, but he knew how to pick out scores and keep the gang saf e – just like how you wanted.”

“Yeah, he did do that...he...he always worried about the gang,” a soft and sad smile came over Dutch’s distraught face.  “I used to tell him, back when we were younger that all his worrying would put him in an. ..early grave!” sobs wracked Dutch’s form.

“Dutch you need to sleep. Hosea would want you to sleep.”

“I can’t,” he shook his head. “I don’t wanna leave him.”

“You need to. All this weeping will make yourself sick. We need you to b e strong. We’re no good without you. ”

“I can’t...” he whimpered. 

It was astounding but somehow Dutch managed to look even more pathetic. Micah internally screamed. How could Dutch have fallen so far  in just a few hours? 

“Dutch, we’re going to need to bury him sooner or later.”

The realization that he would have to part with Hosea even further broke Dutch completely.  “No, I don’t wanna...”

“I’m not saying that we throw him in a ditch somewhere,” Micah assured. “Hosea doesn’t deserve that . I’m saying that we give him a nice send off. A proper burial. He’d like that, don’t you think?”

“A real burial?”

“Yep,” he nodded proudly. “Give him a nice and proper burial in a churchyard with a real coffin instead of some old piney box.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’ll cost money for sure, but this is Hosea we’re talking about here. He deserves a good funeral don’t you think?”

Dutch meekly nodded. “Yeah, he does.”

“Good man. I’ll take him into the morgue. Tell the place to get him ready, okay?”

“I  wanna go too. I don’t want to leave him.”

Micah shook his head.  “Dutch, I’ve seen places of the dead. It’s not a pretty place. Trust me when I say this but that’s not that the kind of place that you want your last memory of Hosea to be in. Go get something to eat. Get some sleep. I’ ll make the  arrangements , Dutch. Don’t you worry. Go be with the gang. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Thank you, Micah. I. ..I’m glad that you’re with us.” 

It took Dutch forever to leave. He stumbled  out, half dazed with grief.  When he was alone, Micah went to work. What did the old man have on  him? It figures not much.  Some money now his, a silver medal probably worth something to the right person, and . ..hmm the guns were nice and in great condition too. What did a dead man need guns for?

Now an alive man....it was  subtle but Micah swear that he saw  Hosea’s fingers twitch. Maybe he wasn’t dead, but nearly dead. And what did a nearly dead man need with  anything? Micah struck the nearly dead Hosea with his gun. It brought an end to any twitching .


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Micah's a dick. That is all.

Upon arriving into town, what little of it , it could be called, it was hard for Micah Bell to not feel proud for himself.  Things were finally starting to go his way.  Hosea, as brilliant as he was, was a solid pain in the ass. He went against every single damn plan that would allow the gang to earn any money at all.  No killing, rob those need robbing instead of those who had cash....it was a completely disgrace. What kind of man called himself an outlaw and didn’t like the thri ll of the kill? Oh, he heard of tall tales of the so  called good old days when it used to be Hosea and Dutch.  He heard tale that  back in the day, Hosea could kill as easily as he breathed, steal in the blink of an eye , and was generally the most ruthless outlaw that any man could hope to become.  He was the greatest conman outlaw of the west....and he went soft , so the story went. Still, Hosea, like the rest of them, was a conman and like the conman that he was, he had a bounty. 

Swaggering up to the Sheriff’s office , Micah  knew that he was about to play a role greater than anything Hosea had ever played. He strode in, smiled,  and said, “Today is your lucky day, gentlemen! I’ve brought you a bounty .”

The Sheriff, dull and tired, took one look at Micah and asked, “ Your own?”

There was a great laugh at Micah’s expense but for once, his anger did not flare. He kept his temper nice and even, not once showing his displeasure.  “I’m afraid that I don’t have a bounty, gentlemen.  But I’ve got Hosea Matthews’s.”

There was a still moment of silence. The Sheriff leapt to his feet. “What did you say?”

“Hosea Matthews,” Micah smiled. “Wanted in not one, two, but five  states, I believe?”

“I don’t believe it,” muttered the Deputy. “I don’t believe it. No one’s ever caught him or Dutch Van Der Linde...or at least not very long. They’re slippery. I think they’ve broken out of ten prisons alone!”

“That they have, but Mr. Matthews will not be breaking out of this one. Come outside, gentlemen. I’ve got him on my horse.”

There was a great rush and suddenly, for the entire town to see, there was the late great Mr. Matthews on the back of  Micah’s horse.

“My god,” the deputy shouted. “It’s him!”

“You caught Hosea Matthews?” the Sheriff gasped. “We’ve been after him for over twenty-five years! How did you do it?”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Micah shrugge d . “The old feller was on his last legs. Took one good  whack and now he’s getting fitted for his halo.”

The Sheriff kicked Hosea’s body. Micah personally wished that he had done so too. “Doubt that the likes of Mr. Matthews will be gett ing a halo. He’s going down south for sure.”

“Most definitely. Now, about that bounty?”

One corpse lighter and ten thousand dollars more, Micah was off to have himself a good time all on Hosea’s bounty money. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hosea's been gone for like a day and the camp is already falling apart.

Dutch decided that the worst thing about losing someone, was how every little thing reminded him of Hosea. Hearing the water in the lake, smelling the sweet spring air...to say nothing of his lonely now vacant tent. Dutch cried harder than he thought possible and soon became ill. He was curled up in his tent and forbade any and all contact with his gang. He couldn’t lead them, not right now. He needed time to mourn. Unfortunately, his order was not obeyed by Miss Molly O’Shea. She was a kept woman and she loved the romance of being the sweetheart of the man who ran the most fearsome gang in the area. 

It was not very hard to fall in love with Dutch Van Der Linde. He was everything that she’d been looking in life and now...now he was a sobbing mess. Molly entered the tent, her coy and charming air gone. Fancy words and caresses would not help Dutch now. She sat upon his bed and instantly earned a glare of contempt. 

“...go away...” 

“Oh, hush,” she offered her lap for him to lie his head upon which he did. Soon, her long and nimble fingers were caressing his hair. “With all your crying, you’ll make yourself sick.” 

“I am sick,” he mumbled into her lap. 

“You miserable creature,” Molly sighed. “I am sorry about Hosea, Dutch...I knew...I knew you two were close.” 

Miss Molly O’Shea was many things but an idiot she was not. She saw the looks and the lingering touches. Something had conspired between Dutch and Hosea. Whether it was romance or simply the result of running and killing folks for over twenty years remained to be seen, but they were close. 

“I want him back...” 

She said nothing in return. What could she say that would make anything better? If Dutch was going to mourn, then he was going to mourn. As for everyone else, they had gathered around the campfire and were sharing stories and crying and being a family. The gang, Arthur really, had extended an invitation to her. Although, she doubted that her presence would have been welcomed. She knew what the others thought of her. 

Miss High and Mighty O’Shea. 

Miss Priss who didn’t have to contribute. 

The woman who just had to look pretty and take Dutch’s worries away. 

They thought the very worst of her. In their little makeshift family, she was an outsider. She liked Hosea as much as anyone could (and seeing how Dutch couldn’t say his name right now that was a lot) but she knew that she didn’t belong there. No, her place was here with Dutch who was now nearly asleep. Well the others could say whatever they liked about her but she was able to do what none of them were capable of: calming Dutch down. She’d like to see Miss Grimshaw or Karen or any of them do that. And then, just Dutch was about to go to the land of Nod, Arthur came in. Eyes red and cheeks stained with tears that as she might have guessed only just stopped. 

“’Ello Arthur,” she nodded. 

“Miss O’Shea...we um, I need to talk to Dutch.” 

She gave him a pitiful sort of look and sighed. “Hosea?” 

“It’s been a day. He needs to be buried.” 

“I know,” she nodded again. “It can’t wait, can it?” 

“I just wanna see my pa rightfully buried. He’d do it for any of us.” 

“I know. Dutch? Darling? You have a visitor?” 

The once brilliant Dutch Van Der Linde barely had the strength to open his eyes and acknowledge Arthur. “...what...?” he grumbled. 

“It’s been a day. We need to bury Hosea. Charles and John are already out scouting for places. They’ve found a handful that they think that Hosea would’ve liked. We need you.” 

“Can’t do it...” 

“Why not?” Panic started to rise in his belly. “Where’s Hosea, Dutch? Dutch, where’s Hosea?” 

“Hosea?” Dutch muttered. “Hosea’s gone...” 

“I know he’s gone, Dutch, I need...I want to see him. We want to send him off.” 

“You’ll all have your chance,” he sniffled. “Micah took him to-” 

“YOU GAVE HOSEA TO MICAH?!” Arthur shouted. “WHY?” 

“Don’t you dare yell at me, boy! I...we have a plan. I’m not lettin’ Hosea be put in some pauper’s grave!” 

“Whose idea was it? Yours or Micah’s?” 

“You’ve never liked Micah!” he roared, leaping to his feet. “Not from the first damn second he’s been here. But he’s doing his best to do right by the gang. He went to give Hosea’s...” he could not say body or anything else. “He went to take Hosea to the undertaker. We’re gonna give him a right and proper funeral.” 

“You actually believe that?” 

“Yes, I do, Arthur and the fact that you don’t makes me question your loyalty! Don’t you want Hosea to have a funeral?” 

“I do! But I wouldn’t give him to Micah!” Arthur stormed out of the tent unable to look at Dutch anymore. “Damn it, Dutch, what is wrong with you?” 

Dutch followed him out. “What’s wrong? I lost Hosea!” 

“We all did! You’re not the only one who’s hurting!” 

“I knew him longer! Before there was you or John or anyone else, it was me and Hosea!” 

“Yeah? Well Hosea did more for this gang than you ever did! Whose bright idea was it to rob the ferry back in Blackwater, Dutch? Yours and Micah’s! Hosea and I had a good land scheme working but did you listen to us? Nope! We’re on the run, Dutch! We’ve got Pinkertons breathing down our necks and gunning for us.” 

“Don’t throw Blackwater back in my face, boy! I did what I had to for the gang.” 

“And who ended up paying for it? Jenny, Mac, and Davey! We wouldn’t have half the Pinkertons chasing us that we do now if we laid low like Hosea wanted to do, but no the Great Dutch “I’ve got a plan” Van Der Linde couldn’t resist robbing one more train, killing half of Colm O’Driscolls’ boys, and kicking up shit whenever he damned pleased!” 

“It was for the gang, Arthur!” 

“Please, it was for yourself! We were suppose to be laying low! We were suppose to go West, not East! You’re driving us further into society and into the Pinkerton’s arms! Just admit it! You don’t have a plan! You don’t have anything! Hosea thought it was a bad idea but you didn’t listen to him!” 

“You have no right to talk about Hosea like that! You didn’t know him like I did.” 

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But at least I listened to him! We’ve kicked up too much trouble. We’re too noticeable. Hosea knew that. We needed to be doing small gigs and instead, you’ve got one of the richest men in the country looking to see us all hanged!” 

“Cornwall is a small man in the great scheme of things, Arthur.” 

“His money ain’t,” Arthur spat. In the world of verbal sparring Dutch was largely unmatched, but anger and heartache fueled Arthur’s tongue. He was saying everything that had been on his mind since Blackwater. “We’re not gonna make it, Dutch. Not on the path we’re heading down.” 

“If you don’t like this gang anymore then you can leave! Ain’t no one holding a gun to your head.” 

“You kicking me out?” 

“You kicked yourself out,” he glared. “Get out.” 

“You’ve changed, Dutch and not for the better.”


	6. Chapter 6

In the world of wanted outlaws and men that needed a good hanging, Hosea Matthews was high up on the list. In the law’s opinion, Hosea was only second to the infamous Dutch Van Der Linde whose name every lawman cursed with fury. In an ideal world, they would like to have had a very public hanging for the both of them. The kind of hanging that people saw once in a lifetime and yet, with the recently deceased Mr. Matthews, they would settle for a corpse over him being alive any day of the week. 

The proper handling and care of the bodies of wanted men consisted of nothing less than two steps. The first was to dig a ditch and the second was to throw the body into it. The good lawmen of Rhodes did just that. Hose Matthews was thrown into a shallow grave without much fanfare. The glorious coffin and funeral that Micah talked up was nowhere to be seen. Those who knew the area were aware that soon wild animals who caught the scent of decay would be feasting on him. It was a fitting end for such an outlaw. 

Or it would have been had Hosea Matthews not woken up from his semi-death state. It was with a gasp and a scream as he realized that he was in a grave of all things. “What in the hell is happening!?” 

When he was younger, there were many nights that Hosea found himself in strange places with little to no memory of how he got there. But in those days, he was the one usually waking up in the sheriff’s office, not a morgue. The morgue was new. While he was no longer one for a night of drinking and misadventure, he was certain that he hadn’t done anything that would make him wake up in here of all places. 

“What the hell happened? What happened?” 

He remembered the whiskey, the new American art of advertising, and the bar fight too...he certainly felt the pain of the bar fight. There was the drive back and more pain. There was the medicine he took...what did he even take? What was it? It was something bitter? He couldn’t remember for the life or death of him. Whatever the reason or cause, Hosea knew one thing, he had to get back to camp. 

Unlike most public places, the morgue wasn’t on lockdown. People paid attention when thieves were stealing corpses, not the corpses walking out of their own volition. Collecting himself, Hosea counted his blessings, what few there were, that he still had his clothes on and no one tried cutting him open. As for his guns and money, he didn’t have that luxury. They were gone. 

It would be hard to get new guns and money without much on him. Thankfully, it was easy to steal a horse while the good people of this dirt-poor town were asleep. Hosea took off like a shot. Under the dark of night, there was little in the way of obstacles. No one tried to rob him or kill him for the sake of killing. It should have been an easy ride back to the camp but when he arrived in the nice little spot that they had picked out, the gang was gone. 

“This is not good,” Hosea summarized with a heavy sigh. “Alright then, if I was a gang of wanted and desperate outlaws with a leader like Dutch, where would I go?” 

Certainly not the city. Dutch hated the city and everything that it stood for. It was unlikely that they would have doubled back as well, not after the stunt in Strawberry. They had to be going east...maybe into the swamps. Hosea dreaded the idea of going into the swamp with no weapons, no resources, and no way knowing where exactly they could be hiding out. If the swamps were anything like Rhodes, it was too dangerous to be going into it alone. 

He would have to wait for some sign of the gang, maybe send a letter out if the Pinkertons hadn’t figured everything out yet. With little choice, Hosea went into the city. Saint Denis was an ugly gaudy tribute to everything wrong with society. It was filthy, filled with wanton greed, drunkenness, and cruelty. However, for a conman like Hosea, Saint Denis was a place where he could thrive. He didn’t fit the mold when people thought of oily conmen or vicious killers. He simply looked like a harmless old man or everyone’s grandfather, sometimes a gentleman if he wore the right clothes. Yes, in the thick of Saint Denis, in the hustle and bustle of the big city, no one would have ever suspected him as a pickpocket or a thief. 

It might have taken him some time but eventually, Hosea found the beat of the city and the richest streets. Going against the grain, he collected no less than five wallets, each filled to the brim with enough cash to warrant a change of clothes and some decent guns. It crossed his mind that new horse might be in order as well. Unlike the hicks in Rhodes, people in Saint Denis knew when you had class and style. They judged you on everything from your hair to your shoes to your horse. Ah, but a good horse would cost good money. Money that he didn’t have. 

Picking pockets was something that he was an old hat at. He taught the best of them to do it. It was a skill that he excelled at, but now? With his shaky hands and disheveled state? It was best to not push his luck. He took what he had and left the sullen streets and went uptown for some more prestigious lodgings. 

The Park Noelle was one of the finest hotels in Saint Denis. In the lobby alone, there was a swarth of wealthy matrons and patrons and bright-eyed newcomers who wanted to experience the West in all of it’s glory. There was something beautiful about a room full of people who were so gullible and ripe for the picking. With each step that he took to the front desk, he knew that all eyes were on him. Someone in his state walking into such a fancy place? It was enough to raise eyebrows. And with eyebrows raised, he needed a cover. 

There were many personas in his act that served him well over the years. The clown, the old man, the grandfather figure, the comedian, the wise school professor, and there was that stint where he was a priest, but out of all of them, it would take a special one that he rarely used: the wealthy widower. Ah, yes, the wealthy widower, the hard-working frontiersman who lost his wife and threw himself into his work and is looking to slow down and retire. It wasn’t hard to conjure up sad memories of his lost love, Bessie. She put in a lot of years in him and he couldn’t give her the life she deserved. Hosea blinked the tears out of his eyes. The waterworks were effective, but he didn’t need them now. He had to stay focused. 

“Hello there, young fella,” he brightly smiled at the desk clerk who immediately tensed. “It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m not armed.” Hosea lifted his vest to show his distinct lack of firearms. “I need a room.” 

“Oh...well, we only allow a certain type of clientele to stay at the Park Noelle.” 

That’s what he figured and why he was here. Hosea laughed, the same kind of obnoxious laugh that he heard from every rich bastard that he and Dutch ever robbed. “Do I look like some redneck hick, my boy? You can’t expect a businessman such as myself to go out riding in the elements wearing my best three suit. It simple isn’t done, you know.” 

The curious eyes reviewed Hosea’s attire and it seemed to click for them that he was who he said he was or at least dressed like he said he was. They flicked over to the clerk who grew nervous under the attention. “Oh, yes! Yes, sir, um...which room would you like?”


	7. Chapter 7

There was no gang related crime in Saint Denis for two weeks. Sure, the O’Driscolls showed up once or twice but they were quickly dispatched by the police with frightening accuracy. Otherwise, there was nothing. Hosea kept his ear close to the ground for any person who might have been associated with the Dutch Van Der Linde Gang. Anyone who might have matched the description of the men and women he considered to be his family, he sought out. Instead of finding his gang, his family, he found drunks, fools, thieves, prostitutes, and cut-throat killers. 

It was a devastating blow to say the least and a large annoyance. How many times did he tell the gang to keep a low profile only to have them rob a bank or to massacre a town? But the one time he wasn’t there and they took it to heart. After the second week, Hosea began to fear that they might have left the area. It made sense that after some time they would need to leave, but Hosea liked to think that he knew Dutch. 

As a man who hated the city and all that it stood for, Dutch was bound to make an appearance sooner or later to hoodwink the entire populace into his ideals or to rob the rich blind. Dutch was a man who never left a scam or scheme alone if he was sure that he could make money from it and as the great man thought himself Lord and Master over the country that they wandered, he would do it time and time again. But really, no activity? Nothing at all?

Bill wasn’t getting into fights, the girls weren’t robbing idiotic men, Pearson and Ms. Grimshaw weren’t getting supplies, Swanson wasn’t getting drunk, and there wasn’t a sign at all that Strauss was doing any moneylending. How was it possible that a gang as big as they were, with as many moving pieces like they were, with such volatile personalities didn’t raise a single bit of trouble? Maybe they did leave the area after all. If this was the case, it called for a round up of supplies. If he was going out into that world by himself, he wasn’t going to do it as he currently was. With that thought in mind, Hosea left his hotel room in search of proper supplies, guns, food, a better horse and such. 

It was an absolute perfect day in Saint Denis. Dozens of rich folk and their families were out and about. Each was a perfect target for him to steal and rob from with ease. Hosea calculated that within an hour or so, he would have enough money to set up his new life of searching for his family…or that was the general plan. No sooner had Hosea stepped out of the hotel did gun fire ring throughout the streets. Every sensible person ran for cover and hid, but Hosea did not. He ran through the crowds and went straight to the action. In the middle of the street, there was a carriage that was surrounded by two men on horseback. Hosea’s heart leapt with joy that it might be Arthur or Javier but instead it wasn’t. They were common crooks.

“Your money or your life, lady!” one of them threatened. 

Hosea wanted to scream. A daylight robbery? On a woman who had enough cash for an escort? With a police officer nearby? Granted that the escorts were dead and the poor policeman was stunned. Not surprising given that he barely looked sixteen. It seemed that the robbers would get their way. The woman, roughly around his age, was sobbing as she lost her jewels and finery. And yet, as she cried, it gave him an idea. Who was more celebrated than a knight in shining armor? Hosea took the gun from the police officer and with perfect aim shot both robbers dead. The silence that followed stunned everyone in the street. Hosea stepped over the bodies of the fallen robbers and went to the door of the coach. Inside, the older woman was crying hysterically.

“It’s alright, miss,” Hosea gave his best award winning smile. “They’re dead now. You’re safe.”

The woman sobbed louder and threw herself into Hosea’s arms. He nearly stumbled but caught her just the same. “There, there…” he uttered, adding a soothing rub on her back to sell that everything was fine. 

“My hero!” she choked out. “You saved my life! Oh! You saved my life!”

It was this statement that everyone who was in the street shared. With his steady hand and cool head, Hosea had become and instant hero in the eyes of Saint Denis.


	8. Chapter 8

Some men were born lucky, but for Hosea Matthews he made his luck and he made it work for him. The poor woman who mere hours ago was on death’s doorstep via armed men was none other than the rich widow Lady Hutchinson. Mrs. Hutchinson was a middle age woman with gray hair and dark brown eyes. She had a pleasing enough figure and was considered to be the most wanted woman due to her extreme wealth which she had inherited when her beloved husband died. She cared not for the daily running of the business and left that aspect of work to her son, Johnathan who jealously guarded his mother’s heart from all prospective suitors. He kept everyone away, but when it came to Hosea, it simply wasn’t possible.

With his single act of heroics, not only was he cemented as an official “do-gooder” but he had rightfully earned a place in Lady’s heart. That was how he found himself in the grandest mansion in all of Saint Denis, sitting right next to Lady herself as she invited no less than fifty of her dearest friends for dinner to regale them with the tale of how this wonderous man came out of nowhere to save her.

“You saved me!” she sobbed. “Oh, you dear man!” Lady had yet to let go of the vice-like grip around Hosea’s hand.

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” he smiled. “Any upstanding citizen would have done so.” He offered her his handkerchief for good measure which she gladly took.

Lady scoffed as she dabbed her eyes. “Oh, yes, those looky-loos who did nothing to save me? In broad daylight?”

“You’ve had a frightful day,” Lady’s friends chorus.

“What good are the police if they don’t protect you?” a mustachioed gentleman asked.

“And in this part of town!” a woman squawked. “Right outside your own business!”

“If it wasn’t for dear…” Lady paused and gasped. “I don’t even know your name! You must think me to be a terrible idiot!”

“Nonsense,” Hosea replied with a cool and calm demeanor. “After everything you’ve gone through today, you are allowed to break a few rules of good hosting. My name is Robert Quinten, I’m from out West or I was until I ran afoul of bad weather and bad luck.”

The room was dying to know who and what Mr. Quinten was involved in and Hosea was more than happy to indulge in their curiosity. He wouldn’t give out specific details, not too many to begin with. The best lie was a simple one. Too many details and you would start forgetting things like places and people.

“I’m a rancher, born and raised and an entrepreneur. The West is where the future lies and so did my cattle, but wouldn’t you know it, a tornado came down and destroyed everything. I lost everything. My men, my livestock, but I kept my life. I can’t tell you how lucky I was to make it back into the city.”

It was simple and clean. There were no hard details to remember and what’s more, it earned the sympathy of everyone in the room. Lady who already thought that Hosea hung the stars became even more enthralled in his tale.

“You poor man!” she exclaimed, putting her hand over her heart. “You’ve gone through such a dreadful journey and…oh! You must stay with here at Hutchinson Hall as my personal guest!”

“My dear Lady, I could not impose on you.”

“As if a man such as yourself could ever impose on me. You are my personal guest and I won’t hear a word against it.”

Who was Hosea to deny Lady her chance at generosity? He moved into the Hutchinson Hall that evening and took quarters across from his dear patron. Unlike many conmen who found themselves in similar surroundings, Hosea knew what he had to do and what he needed to avoid. The most important was to get cash and to keep the lie alive. The second was finding Dutch and the rest of the gang. With a crew like theirs it would be impossible before some sort of trouble came up and when it did, he would be there to lend a helping hand and to get them the hell out of dodge with whatever cash he got from Lady Hutchinson. Dutch may have always had a plan, but they were short-term. Long term plans fell into Hosea’s domain and his plan included going back out West, creating a nice little settlement with the long arm of the law far behind them with no chance of anyone getting arrested, shot and killed, or hung.

It was a nice little plan and by playing Lady Hutchinson like a fiddle, he was sure to accomplish it. All that he had to do now was lie low, play nice, and keep an eye and ear out for any signs of the Dutch Van Der Linde gang.

But, of course, all good plans were not created equal nor did have account for every bump and dip in the road. The bump in this case came in the form of Johnathan Hutchinson, the son and heir to Lady Hutchinson, who upon seeing Hosea sitting at the dinner table with his mother staring at him like he hung the stars, his first reaction was to grab his father’s old pistol from the living room and to point it directly at Hosea’s head. There was a tremendous fuss about this from Lady.

“JOHNATHAN!” She shrieked. “Put that away this instant!”

“Who the hell is he?” Johnathan shouted.

Hosea ignored the chaos and continued to drink his coffee.

“He’s my guest! Mr. Quinten!” Lady explained. “He saved my life yesterday.”

“How? By –“

“By defending your mother in a middle of a daylight robbery by shooting two armed assailants who would have otherwise put a bullet between her eyes,” Hosea calmly explained.

Johnathan did not lower his gun. “If you try anything funny, I’ll kill you.”

Hosea sighed. “First, son –“

“Don’t call me son,” Johnathan snarled.

“First, boy, don’t point a gun if you don’t intend to use it. Second, if you are going to use a gun, have the decency to at least cock back the hammer to give the illusion that you are willing to fire it. Third, your mother has put up a delicious spread and I suggest that you enjoy it before it gets cold.”

Johnathan did put the gun away and he did joy his mother and Hosea for breakfast but under no circumstances did he think of becoming better with the man whom his mother thought the world of. Oh, no, the second that Johnathan laid eyes on Hosea he was already thinking of a plan to get rid of him.


End file.
